


The Road to Casa Palma

by RivetingFabrications



Series: Jaytim Week 2016 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RivetingFabrications/pseuds/RivetingFabrications
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long three weeks of running Wayne Enterprises and cold leads on the latest case, but Tim's night is about get a lot more exciting when he gets abducted from Bruce's gala by none other but the Red Hood.</p><p>Jaytimweek prompt: Suit and Tie</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Casa Palma

Tim ducked under the nearest table, shards of champagne flutes smashing on the marble floor of the gala, his fellow socialites screaming in shock and terror as bullets rained down like metal showers.

“Give me Timothy Drake-Wayne! Or I blow this place to bits!” boomed a technologically enhanced voice, artificially scrambled yet all too familiar. Thankfully Alfred was nowhere to be seen, Tim noticed, probably already down at the cave to engage whatever safety mechanisms Bruce had possibly prepared. Although, Tim thought, they could all have done without the Red Hood gleefully destroying Bruce’s mansion when the gala was for the purpose of charity.

“Stop shooting!” Tim bellowed, hoping that the gunmen could hear him over the sounds of their guns. Three were definitely shooting from the upstairs balcony, six circling around to ensure the terrified guests were too scared to even lift their cowering heads from the floor. At the sound of his voice, he heard the Red Hood shout a command, giving way to a tentative, unnerving silence echoing through the gallery.

“What do you want with me?” he called, daring to poke his head out from beneath the tablecloth.  One of the men spotted him, swinging his gun around to point directly at Tim.

“Get the hell out from there, and no funny business!” snapped the man. “Hands where I can see ‘em!”

Deliberately, Tim stuck his hands slowly above his head as he shifted to one knee, before emerging from beneath the table that had sheltered him. The distinctive helmet of the Red Hood greeted him as his head rose above the surface of the table now riddled with bullets.

“What are your demands?” demanded Tim, squaring his jaw and glaring even as he slowly laced his fingers behind his head. Most of the men had their guns trained on him now. Yet Jason laughed, walking over with an arrogance that never ceased to irritate the younger Robin.

“It’s nothing personal, pretty boy,” sneered Hood. “But if you piss me off I’ll give the order for my men to shoot all your guests in this room, capiche?” Without telegraphing his moments or even taking a breath, Hood tripped Tim; he went down like a sack of potatoes as per his persona. A stale bag was suddenly forced over his head, and Tim managed to sneak in a gasp of air before the strings were tightened and his wrists forcefully gripped in a way that was sure to leave bruises later. He squirmed indignantly as Jason zip tied him, (as if he were some petty criminal for the Gotham PD to find later, the nerve!) before slinging him over a shoulder.

“We got the target, let’s go!” called Jason to his men, (and just where had he gotten those?) and Tim heard the click of something that sounded like multiple canisters and fizzing noises, though muffled through the bag, and Tim suspected that they were using smoke canisters to make their escape. He struggled a little, though not really trying to escape, but his fingers grazed against the arm making sure he didn’t fall. In the muddled chaos and a few gunshots he could hear, he managed to twist his wrists around enough to tap a message in morse code to Jason on his arm, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious.

 _What are you doing, Hood?_ Tim tapped quickly, grunting as he was hefted suddenly when Jason fired off some rounds. They headed down a flight of stairs. Condensation was already making the fabric of the bag stick uncomfortably to his face, but Tim received no response from the former drug lord who reacted at the sound of distant gunshots.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Red Hood, and Tim groaned as he was slung from the shoulder he had been perched precariously on and tossed onto a car seat, felt someone clambering in with him and the doors slamming. The engines roared to life, and then the car was already in gear, tires screeching as the driver hit the pedal. Even through the bag, Tim could smell the scorching scent of burning rubber and asphalt.

“The boss’ll be pleased with the work today, Hood.”

“Obviously,” retorted Jason’s mechanical voice, floating somewhere above him. A possessive hand squeezed Tim’s shoulder.

“How’s the rich brat?”

“Alive, just how Maroni wants him. Think he might have inhaled a bit of the smoke from the grenades though; he seems a bit quiet.” Tim felt the drawstrings of the bag loosen, the burlap yanked off his head. He inhales the crisp, clean air with a sharp breath, twists around. Just as he opens his mouth, gloved hands catch his jaw, squeezing his cheeks roughly until no sound comes out.

“Listen, pretty boy,” sneered the Red Hood, but then the hand that pressed Tim firmly into the seats was tapping rapidly, “Don’t resist, because I’d hate to break a cute face like yours.” _Play along._

“Please, I’ll give you money, anything,” begged Tim, opening his eyes comically wide, testing Jason’s grip a little. “I’ll give you a thousand if you let me go!”

He could almost see Jason’s eyes roll behind the helmet. “You think I’d waste my time kidnapping your fancy ass for a measly one grand? Try again.” Yet before Tim could even spout off further nonsense, Jason was yanking the bag over his head once more, squeezing his throat once briefly in warning.

Tim tried to keep track of the twists and turns of the car as a precaution, but he lost track once they turned away from the tourist strip and took series of winding back alleys. It didn’t matter; he knew his way around Gotham like the back of his hand. Jason wasn’t responding to any messages Tim tapped to him in Morse; the last one resulted in Jason snarling at him to quit moving and smartly cuffing him on the scruff of his neck. Whatever his patrol partner was doing, Tim was left completely in the dark.

Then a heavy, metallic thud sounded, the punch of the car’s sunroof unmistakably shattering.

“Fuck! It’s the Bat!”

“Keep driving!” snarled the Hood, and Tim was hauled up, the gun pressed to his jawline. “C’mon, Bats, let’s see what you’re made of!” The car veered; Tim’s body fell towards the side as Jason’s gun reverberated in the cramped confines of the car once, twice. Muffled sounds of car horns and traffic sirens were audible through the burlap, even the scent of burnt rubber and tires was prevalent, though Tim’s ears rung painfully.

In the midst of the scuffle, Tim managed to rip the sack off his head in spite of his hands still being zip tied together; he wrestled the pistol out from the grip of the man sitting shotgun who wasn’t expecting him to move so quickly. Throwing it out of the sunroof, Tim stared helplessly to where Batman held Jason in a viselike grip. The car careened back and forth, bashing into trashcans and narrowly missing pedestrians.

“Get the hell off, Batman!” yelled Jason, and Tim’s eyes widened at the telltale blink of a detonator latched onto Bruce’s cape.

“Watch out!” he yells, heart hammering. It’s too late; Bruce is engulfed in smoke and flames licking at his cape and body armor, falling forward onto the sunroof as the car swerves abruptly. Though Batman’s gauntlets dig into the shattered frame of the sunroof, the inertia flings the looming figure of Batman off the car and into the cold Gotham air.

“Phew,” hummed the Red Hood, completely unfazed. Tim saw in the rearview mirror that the driver was completely shaken, his face pallid and stricken while his fingers shook on the wheel. Then Jason’s attention returned to Tim, the man’s body language ominous as he reached towards Tim.

“Looks like I need to tie you down properly,” growled Hood. Abruptly Tim’s arms were wrenched into a painful position, the zip ties biting into his skin, and Tim clenched his eyes shut against the pain. “ _Behave_ ,” hissed Jason’s mechanical voice. Tim struggled uselessly before he finally acquiesced, falling limp as he waited for his moment to strike.

~*~*~*~

While Tim had certainly been aware of the fragile balance between the Maronis and the Falcones in recent days, he hadn’t expected to be swept up in the chaos. Bruce and he had been investigating for weeks now with few leads, but apparently Jason had managed to find an in without telling either of them.

“Mister Drake. I do apologize for the inconvenience we may have caused you.” Tim sat across from Sal Maroni, the most feared leader of the mafias in Gotham, wrists bound together and his lips stiffly pressed tight. Jason waited a few yards away, watching the exchange.

“‘ _Inconvenience’_ is a bit of an understatement, Maroni,” Tim replied coolly, his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“I told Hood not to be too rough, but perhaps –”

“Oi, as you can see, not an inch of him is bruised up,” retorted Hood. Maroni glared halfheartedly at the mercenary, but otherwise declined to comment. Tim immediately honed in on the lack of discipline. Hood wasn’t working for Maroni, or at least that perception that was just the tip of the iceberg of what they both wanted everyone to see. _Hood_ was calling the shots, or at least had some sort of hold over Maroni, and the mafia don was far from happy about that.

“If it’s money you want, you can have it,” said Tim ineffectually. But drug money was easier, safer money than ransoming a rich boy from Upper Gotham, with far less riskier stakes. Sure enough, the man scoffed at him.

“I’m certainly not in need of money; far from it. No, Mr. Drake, I have a business offer.”

“I can’t say I’m very interested, given that you just broke into my home, terrorized my visitors, and took me away,” shot back Tim, a Red Robin edge to his voice that he tried to lessen by adding a quaver to the end of his voice, stiffening as if in fear as Maroni swept his eyes over him.

“Perhaps. But you will understand why those were necessary steps in a few minutes.” Sal Maroni advanced on Tim, who leaned away from the towering man as much as possible. “You are aware of the latest project the Neon Knights Foundation has been working on, yes?”

“You mean the project we’re working on to expand the residential areas of Gotham?” Tim stared back at Maroni. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Exactly that.” Maroni’s grim expression never wavered. “I want you to cease what you’re doing immediately.”

“No.” Tim’s immediate response surprised even him, but Maroni didn’t even bat an eye.

“I thought you’d say that. But right now, what the Neon Knights is doing is hurting our business, what you’re doing.” Maroni steps right up to Tim, stooping down and trying to stare him down.

“I – we haven’t done anything!” protested Tim. Hood is eerily quiet, while Maroni glares incessantly. “We’re dedicated to helping the community and –”

“And all the buildings you’ve been surveying are close to our section of the commercial strip,” growled Maroni. “Listen up – I don’t care where you build your do-good little homes and shelters, so long as you don’t build on our turf, understand?”

Abruptly the lights flickered off. Everyone froze; Tim knew immediately that it was the cue for the Batman to drop down.

“Men, on your guard!” barked Red Hood for the first time in minutes, and Tim could hear the sharp shift of guns being loaded, triggers at the ready. Tim was bodily hauled up, dragged away from the nearest windows as gunfire exploded in the room, hailing the arrival of glass shattering and Batman barreling into the room.

“Hood!” he shouted over the spray of bullets and the obvious crack of Bruce’s gauntlets against heads. “What is going –”

“Shut up and get down, dumbass!” snapped Jason, tripping him once more and practically kicking Tim under the overturned table for protection. He vaulted over it and abruptly grabbing Sal Maroni by the scruff of his jacket. “Ok you fuckers, drop your guns or I put a bullet in his head!” he shouted. Batman ripped away a semiautomatic from the grip of another thug, cracking the barrel over the unfortunate man’s head and not even waiting as the man collapsed unconscious to the ground.

“Hood,” growled Batman. “What are you –”

“Here!” Hood shoved his hand into a protesting Maroni’s pocket, withdrawing and throwing a usb drive in Batman’s general direction. Bruce caught it, glaring at Jason suspiciously through the white lenses of his cowl.

“What is this?”

“That,” smirked Jason, “is all the info you need to shut down the whole operation Maroni’s got going that the Falcones have been trying to derail for the past week. I’ll be taking my reward now, Bats. I’ll leave you to deal with the cops; they don’t like me much.” Jason grinned at the vividly furious Maroni, pushing him to the floor and zip tying him expertly. “Sorry, but I realize that prefer being my own boss, pal.”

“Hood,” growled Batman. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that because I’ve been _such_ a good widdle boy, I deserve a reward.” Tim heard the grin in his tone even through the voice scrambler. “I’m borrowing Baby Rich Boy down here. Don’t worry, I’ll get his royal highness back into his cozy tower before the night’s out.” Jason bent down, yanking up Tim by the arm. Bewildered, Tim trailed after him, too confused to even protest. “Grab the duffel bag under there, will you? There’s a good boy.”

Tim glared at him huffily before grabbing said bag clumsily with his still bound fists, hoping there were no disembodied heads or grenades inside, but Jason just slung it around his shoulder, curling an arm about Tim and yanking him close to his chest.

“Where are you taking me –” Suddenly Jason shot his grapple line, and Tim locked pleading eyes at Bruce before his feet left the floor and he and Jason soared upwards into the Gotham skyline and past the broken window.

 “You missed our last few patrol dates, Prettybird,” called Jason, loud enough so that Tim could hear him over the rush of wind.

“Are you kidnapping me just for that?” yelled Tim, holding on to dear life as they swung towards the next skyscraper to touch down on solid cement.

“Nah, Maroni was planning on doing it anyway and hey, I figured you could use a little excitement beyond all the goddamn piles of paper work you’ve been bitching to me about over the comm line,” huffs Jason, dumping the duffel bag down and unlatching his hood. “Also, because you missed all our fucking dates and you’ve been behind on all your work, I figured I could pick up some of the slack for you. And behold! The case is closed, the Falcone-Maroni politics should be settled once B gets the stick over the Commissioner, and with luck Maroni will be in jail to plot his next untimely scheme again once he gets out.” Jason rolled his eyes. “You owe me a helluva date, babybird.”

Tim stared out over the Gotham nightlife, the sky dark but the city below coruscant in its eternal buzz. “So you basically decided to deter a potential turf war because you wanted to go to the movies.”

“Well, I was thinking something a little schmancier, or something like a good old fashioned beating up knuckleheads over by the docks, but hey, up to you.”

“So you decided to steal the case I was working on,” deadpanned Tim.

“I decided to rescue a pretty damsel in distress,” teased Jason. “Who, by the way, is already mine. C’mere.” He reeled Tim in; tugging him gently by the zip-ties still encircling his wrist. Tim tripped in his interrupted step forward, falling against the hard press of Jason’s chest. Jason’s expression was still hidden by the domino, but the amused smile on his face lingered even after he cut away the plastic binding Tim’s arms together and pressed a teasing kiss to his fingertips.

Tim groaned in embarrassment, unsuccessfully trying to tug away his hand as Jason held tight and issued a series of exaggerated smooches up his arm. “And you gave no heads up to Bruce. And you stuck a detonator on him. Would it have killed you to give a heads up?”

“The big bad bat can bite me; Maroni already had pretty decent plans to crash the party even without my help. B needs to keep on his toes. And,” Jason waggled his eyebrows, “I need to keep up my reputation as a swashbuckling outlaw. As for the detonator, it was a controlled explosion and if that actually taken him down I would lose any respect I had for him forever.”

“Fair enough, but you really couldn’t have said something to me – wait, why are you _changing_?”

Jason snorted, shrugging his leather jacket off and shoving it into the duffel bag. “Like I said, Timbo, you missed all our dates, and obviously I have to be the responsible one to keep the romance alive.” He pulled out a freshly folded oxford shirt, buttoning it over the Kevlar and smirking at Tim. “Keep looking, it fuels my ego.”

“That, we don’t need,” muttered Tim, glancing off to the side.

“Hey, Tim.” Jason glanced at him earnestly, one arm halfway in of the expensive suit jacket he was pulling on. “If you want to go back to the gala we still can –”

“No way,” hummed Tim, and he can’t help but smile at the surprised raise of Jason’s eyebrows.  “You’ve got me already; let Bruce deal with the fallout. Can you believe he left me and Lucius to deal with all the paperwork when the investors decided to organize a meeting the day before? And I saw him just about to run off with Selina just before you decided to shoot down the chandelier.” He sauntered toward Jason, helping him draw the coat tight around his shoulders and popping the collar as Jason wrapped an arm around him securely and raised his grapple line.

“That ass,” mocked Jason. “Onwards, Red Robin?”

~*~*~*~

They landed in a smelly back alley lined with multiple dumpsters, Jason’s tie loose about his neck but tucked under the fold of his collar.

“I can’t believe you forgot dress pants. And shoes.”

“Shove it, Baby bird. I was on a deadline.” Jason huffed at him. Tim chuckled, letting Jason fold him close. His hands curled about the loose ends of Jason's tie as he was hooked in.

“So you still haven’t figured out how to tie a tie?”

“Nah, I just like it better when you do it.”

“So, what plans did the swashbuckling highwayman have in mind when he kidnapped his prize?” hummed Tim, as he expertly knotted the tie. Slowly tightening it, he leaned in towards Jason. Smelling the faintest hint of cologne, Tim stored it away in his memory for later.

“I’m glad you asked,” purred Jason, as Tim’s hands raised up to the domino covering his eyes. “I may have made a reservation at Casa Palma.”

“Go on,” breathed Tim, smirking as the mask peeled away; it fluttered away to the ground, discarded. Jason’s eyes were beautiful and warm, blue with green flecks of laughter.

“And it may be a private balcony that overlooks the Gotham Bay with candlelight.”

“One would think this devilish rogue really cares for his chosen conquest.”

“The sheets are satin, too,” Jason leered, their breaths intermingling.

“Of course. A bucket with chilled wine, some strawberries with chocolate mousse…”

“Got them all, baby bird. But now the question is…are you game?” Jason’s eyes locked with his challengingly.

Tim willingly admitted defeat; he reeled Jason in by the length of his tie, sealing the lost degrees of separation with a kiss that Jason groaned into, crushing Tim against his chest.

“Lead the way, Jason,” managed Tim, his knees already threatening to buckle, and Jason’s smile was huge and charming as their hands intertwined; together, they walked down the road to where Casa Palma was waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly not too pleased with this (I've actually had this sitting in my documents folder for a good 3 months) but it was high time to finish it and jaytimweek was a good opportunity to do so
> 
> I derp around on [tumblr](http://rivetingfabrications.tumblr.com/) so feel free to msg me there or something lol. It is an nsfw blog you have been warned.
> 
> Review, kudos, something, it really inspires me as a writer :) and constructive criticism is welcome


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